


Feral

by Sarah_Ellie



Category: James Bond (Movies), Skyfall (2012) - Fandom
Genre: Alternate Universe, But Mostly Poor Q Just Doesn't Know What To Do, Cat!Bond, Complete, Developing Relationship, Gen, Immediately Post-Skyfall, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-26
Updated: 2013-01-26
Packaged: 2017-11-26 23:07:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,916
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/655379
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sarah_Ellie/pseuds/Sarah_Ellie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>AU: Over a decade ago, Bond caught a disease that causes him to turn into a cat when his body's adrenaline changes dramatically. This wasn't an issue until the early hours after Skyfall, when M is dead and Bond has to trust his new Quartermaster to keep him safe.<br/>   Unfortunately, Q wasn't entirely prepared for this aspect of his job description, and he fumbles a bit along the way. <br/>   (less about the technicalities of Bond's disease, more about Q's stumbles).</p>
            </blockquote>





	Feral

**Author's Note:**

> This fic was inspired by Chibura on Tumblr, who sent the request to the Consulting Writers (Jen). I kind of stole the prompt (with permission, so "borrowed?) and went my own way with it. Comment/Kudos if you enjoy (or don't), please!
> 
> Un-Beta'd and Not Brit-picked.

Slowly, Bond began to come down from the adrenaline high that he had been his latest mission. He kept himself tense and nearly on the cusp of anxiety until he reached London. He turned off of the highway and drove quickly through the London streets, speeding and making near-impossible turns at the last moment. He could feel the buzz in his veins. 

There was an address written on a scrap of paper in his hand, given to him by one of the members of the extraction crew at the Skyfall estate. He had been given a car under M’s directive, who must have already been filled in on Bond’s situation, because he wouldn’t be able to hide what was about to happen in a helicopter filled with people. The slip of paper began to tremble in Bond’s hand, and he parked the car quickly outside of a two-story brick building. Bond climbed out and locked the car. He took a deep breath before he knocked firmly on the door whose house number matched that of the address he carried. 

\---

“I’m sorry, what?” Q choked on his tea, and had to set his mug down and wipe fervently at his shirt with a tissue before he could regain a sense of propriety. 

“You were already briefed on the true nature of our world, Q.” M said impatiently. “Is it really a surprise that one of our best would be a shape-shifter as well?” 

“I thought MI6 had medical procedures for this sort of thing.” Q said desperately, grasping at straws. 

“We do, but Bond caught a rather aggressive strain on assignment in Laos over a decade ago and medical technology wasn’t then what it is now. But I assure you, he has learned to live with the disease and with few exceptions manages it quite fine.”

“Except after missions.” Q said.

“After missions Bond’s adrenaline levels go from a sustained increase to a sudden plummet. This shift creates a disruption in the balance that Bond’s naturally built that tolerates the disease. As a result, his form shifts.” M explained. “And when this happens, Bond needs to be looked after. We can’t have our best agent running around London like some unfortunate stray for a week.”

“And that means…” Q began slowly.

“Really Q, didn’t you wonder why a perquisite for your position was that you weren’t allergic to cats?” M asked. 

\---

“Hello?” Q opened the door to his flat, and was surprised to find his doorstep empty. Until, that is, he looked down, and saw a gray cat looking up at him with crystalline blue eyes. 

“Er- right then. In you get.” Q stepped back and held the door open further, glancing around in hopes that none of his neighbors could see him welcoming a cat into his home like a houseguest. 

The call about Skyfall and the very-recently-late M had come to Q a mere hour beforehand, which had sent Q into a fit of uncertainty. He had already been unsure of how to handle a feline Bond in his apartment (did he buy cat food? A litter box? He hadn’t been able to find a way to ask M that wouldn’t be mortifying), but a grieving feline Bond was even more complicated. 

Uncertain of what to do, Q walked from his front hallway and back into his sitting room, which was separated from his kitchen by a counter. He had cleaned his apartment, and then gone around and laid down different blankets and pillows. He was unsure of what would make Bond most comfortable. As a result, his flat looked like a granny’s house with his furniture loaded down with all sorts of mismatched fabrics. Bond padded into the room after Q and leapt up onto an armchair. Q watched as Bond curled in on himself, his back to the room, and fell asleep. 

“Lovely.” Q sighed. He sat on his sofa and picked up his laptop and returned to what he had been doing before the world had shifted into complete and utter absurdity. 

\--- 

There was no way that Q could have Bond eat on the floor. Every housecat that Q had ever had had a water dish and a food dish on the kitchen floor, but Bond was not a housecat. Instead, Q put a dish of cool water and a small plate of cooked salmon on the counter and sat with his own plate only a few feet away, perched on a barstool. Bond ate eagerly enough for Q to feel like he had done something right. 

“Somehow I thought you’d be more preferable to catching and killing your own food.” Q said, trying to fill the silence between them. Bond stopped eating abruptly, growled, and jumped off of the counter. He stalked away, tail flicking irritably. 

“If you piss in my bed I’ll throw you out!” Q shouted after the cat. He was frustrated and confused, and didn’t appreciate feeling abused by a mammal that couldn’t even walk upright. 

Before Q went to bed, he changed out Bond’s water and set out a fresh bowl, then went looking for the cat. He found Bond curled up at the back of his closet, buried in a pile of Q’s cardigans. 

“Bond, I’m sorry.” Q said into the darkness. He was startled when a pair of eyes flashed- Bond was looking at him. “I don’t mean to be insensitive. I’m a bit out of my depth here, and it’s made me a bit of a prick.” 

Q was startled when Bond stretched and came out of the closet, rubbing up against the leg of Q’s trousers as he went. 

That night Q curled in bed and listened to Bond prowling. It was discomforting, hearing Bond’s cat-noises padding so methodically through the flat. The soft footsteps of a cat usually didn’t march from the front hall to Q’s bedroom and back again over and over again. After all, the average cat didn’t keep watch. 

\--- 

“Q, do you know anything about Bond’s whereabouts?” Moneypenny’s voice echoed through his mobile, which he had set on speaker as he prepared breakfast. Bond was sitting on the counter, having finished his own breakfast of chicken, and watching him closely. 

“Why would I have any idea where he is?” Q asked. 

“Because you’re his bloody Quartermaster, Q, and you helped with the harebrained plot that got M killed.” Moneypenny spat into the phone. “Now I suggest that you use that technological genius of yours that you’re always bragging about and track him down before he drinks himself into a damn coma.” 

Moneypenny hung up, and Q bent over the counter with his head in his hands. He hadn’t realized he would have to keep Bond’s secret from other members of MI6. He had assumed that by Mallory’s complicity in the whole affair, Moneypenny would know too. That on top of the blame of M’s death had begun to fray the delicate edges of whatever containment Q had left. 

“Fuck.” Q groaned into his hands before standing upright and landing a loud blow on the counter with his fist. Bond, startled, and sank low to the table, ears pinned back. 

“I’m sorry.” Q said, looking over at the cat. “Shit Bond, I’m really fucking sorry. About everything.” 

Bond took a few steps closer to Q and mewed. Q ran his hands through his hair and leaned on the counter once again. After a moment, Bond moved forward and bumped his forehead against Q’s arm. 

“I think I need to have a lie down for a moment.” Q said. He stumbled towards the sofa and crumpled onto the cushions. 

He was surprised when Bond followed and leapt up onto the cushions on the back of the sofa. The cat balanced precariously, propped close to Q’s head. His tail curled downwards, brushing against Q’s cheek intermittently. 

\--- 

Grief, Q learned, could be a unifying force. After Moneypenny’s enraged phone call, Q settled into a fog of misery that was penetrable only by the feline Bond, whose morose disposition was a perfect mirror of Q’s mood. Quickly, they settled into a pattern of eat-watch telly- sleep that suited them both just fine. 

“I don’t suppose you can indicate a channel preference?” Q said one afternoon in the middle of the week. He was sitting on the sofa eating crisps and Bond was sprawled out next to him. Q flipped through the channels slowly, glancing down at the cat occasionally to note any change in attitude. Finally, he came across a football match and heard Bond make a noise between a purr and a meow. 

“Very well then, footy it is.” Q said, dropping the remote on the coffee table. He settled into the couch and stared blankly at the screen. His disinterest in sports, even the exciting ones like football matches, allowed thoughts of MI6 to override his brain. 

After a little while, Bond seemed to notice Q’s distress. He bunted his head against Q’s thigh and, when Q lifted his arms off of his legs, he crawled into his lap. Bond looked up at Q with such intensity that he immediately knew what Bond was trying to convey. 

“No worries, I don’t intend on mentioning this to anyone. Ever.” Q assured Bond as he rubbed the cat’s ears. Bond began to purr, and seemed satisfied enough to relax and watch the match while Q derived comfort from Bond’s warmth. Soon enough, Q drifted off to sleep with bond in his lap and his head propped in his hand. 

\---

A sharp knock at the door ripped Q from his nap. Bond jumped off of his lap and ran to the front door, and Q followed behind. Another knock thundered through the flat, and Q yelled to head off another assault on his door. 

“Alright, alright! I’m coming!” Q yelled. Bond growled at the door, hackles raised. Q nudged him aside and pulled the door open. 

“Oh look, he’s alive!” Said a short, dark man on the other side of the door. 

“ ‘lo, Riyad.” Q sighed. 

“What the bloody hell has happened to you, mate?” Riyad said, pushing past Q to enter the flat. “I’ve been ringing you for almost a week. Thought you might’ve died.”

“Work’s been busy.” Q explained, shutting his door. “Loads going on.” 

“Sure, which is why you’re sitting around your flat on a Wednesday afternoon in your bloody pyjamas.” Riyad replied. “Besides, you work for a damn IT department. Not exactly a high-stress job. Is that a cat?”

Q sighed and ran his hands through his hair. A year ago, before Q had secrets and Double-oh Agents and a shape-shifting cat, he was able to keep up with Riyad’s exuberance and his run-on sentences. Now, though, he just wanted him to go away so that he could return to the sofa. 

“Yeah, I got a cat.” Q said. “come on, let me get you a beer.”

“I can’t believe you got a bloody cat, Tom. I thought you hated animals.”

“No, Riyad, I hate people. There’s a rather big difference.” Q said. Riyad settled on the couch and accepted the beer. 

“Whatever, mate. Are you sure you’re okay?” He asked. 

“I’m fine.” Q lied. He sat on the sofa next to his friend and glanced nervously at Bond, who was (there was no other word for it) glaring at Riyad from the corner. 

“Oh look, he likes me.” Riyad said, gesturing to the cat. “Here, kit. C’mere kitty. What’s his name?”

“Uh…” Q paused, panicked. “I haven’t named him yet. Just got him yesterday.”

“You should name him something ironic like ‘dog’ or ‘pup’ or something.” Riyad said. Bond’s tail flicked irritably. 

“Maybe.” Q said noncommittally. “So what brings you by? It’s the middle of the afternoon, like you said. How’d you know I’d be here?” Q raised his beer to his lips and took a swig from the bottle. 

“You haven’t been answering your phone.” Riyad shrugged. “Wanted to make sure you weren’t passed out or dead or something like that. Good thing, too. Cats eat dead bodies, you know. Saw it on the telly.”

As this, Bond stood and walked from the room, tail stuck rod-straight into the air. 

“You’ve offended him.” Q said miserably, watching the cat go.

“He’s a cat, Tom. He can’t understand me.” Riyad said. 

It took two hours for Q to get rid of Riyad. Finally, Q had to make up a lie about a conference call just to get his friend out of the door. The second that the flat was quiet again, Q stumbled through the apartment and crashed onto his bed. He groaned into his pillow, and shortly thereafter fell asleep once again. Bond jumped up on the bed next to him and settled down, giving the room a last watchful glance before closing his eyes.

\---

By Friday night, Q just really, really needed to let off some steam. His nerves were fried, and the walls began to feel as if they were closing in on him. He waited until Bond had fallen asleep on the sofa before slinking off to his bedroom.

He kept his lube in a drawer of his dresser. Q brought the bottle over to his bed and sat on the edge, unbuttoning his trousers and sliding them off along with his pants before coating his hand and beginning to stroke himself. His body responded quickly, and Q quickly let his mind wander as he gave into the smooth friction. 

He saw blue eyes. A quirked smile. The spark of need to please this man that Q barely knew. 

Q came to the image of Bond’s face; pale eyes and the faintest stubble and lines that spoke of experience. The name was whispered from his lips as he rode out the final waves of orgasm. 

He cleaned himself up with his t-shirt, and pulled his trousers back on, sighing a little. 

When he turned, he saw that his bedroom door had not properly closed. A second later, Q saw two eyes, flashing in the darkness, as the cat turned and walked down the hallway and back towards the living room. 

It wasn’t a sure bet, but Q knew that Bond had watched him. Which meant that he had probably heard the name on Q’s lips, right at that final moment. 

“Fuck.” Q swore. 

\---

There is no Google search or Wikipedia entry that tells a person how to handle a situation where one person ( who may be suffering from emotional trauma while trapped in the form of a cat) overhears a co-worker “touching” himself. Particularly when that aforementioned co-worker is doing so while imagining that person. And then there’s the cat thing. 

Not that Q didn’t give the search a valiant effort. First he cleaned himself up a bit, of course, and then routed his IP address through a French server and tried a few entries. The closest he came up with were some very, very disturbing questions about voyeurism and what Q sincerely hoped were Furries. He decided that the internet could be of no assistance to him this time around, and he hesitantly stalked back into the living room to face Bond outright. 

When Q walked into the sitting room, he noticed that Bond was lying on the couch in a loose ball, tail curled around the bottom of his feet. He was staring at the television, which was an incredibly boring news piece about some local drama in Cornwall. Bond’s tail flicked lightly in irritation, and a zap of nerves shot through Q’s body. 

“Shit, I left the beebs on.” Q said quietly. He picked up the remote and switched the channel to the football match. Bond looked up at Q for a moment and blinked slowly before turning back to the telly, ears perked up in visible interest. He cast a second look at Q, who stood at the end of the couch awkwardly.

“Uh… right then.” Q murmured, mostly to himself. He was at a complete loss as to what he should say or do, so he opted to head through the kitchen and out of his back door. Bond’s eyes followed him as he left. Q sat on the shabby back stoop that overlooked his mostly dead and scrubby yard and took a few deep breaths. 

“mreow.” Q turned, and was surprised to see Bond sitting in the doorway to the apartment. Q reached back and instinctively scratched behind Bond’s ears and between his shoulders, which caused the cat to purr and stretch. Q noted that Bond’s sleek gray coat was rippled with white in some places; most notably where Bond’s more obvious scars were located on his human body. In front of his front legs, between the chest and the shoulder, was a particularly large patch of light fur. Q stroked a thumb over the marking gently, and noticed that Bond’s eyes squeezed shut slightly. He couldn’t tell if the look was anxiety or contentment. 

“Any chance we can just pretend that this week didn’t happen after tomorrow?” Q asked Bond, who came forward to sit next to him on the step.

Bond looked up and blinked at him lazily. Q could see the latent sarcasm in Bond’s eyes. 

“I didn’t think so.” Q said morosely. 

Bond stood and brushed up against the side of Q’s leg before jumping into his lap. 

“You’re rather forgiving for a bloody cat.” Q said, stroking the length of Bond’s spine. Bond made a contented sound in reply, and Q supposed that Bond really was just willing to let the whole thing go. Or maybe he just wasn’t picking a fight when he A. couldn’t say anything and B. couldn’t afford to be thrown out of Q’s flat. 

After a few moments of silence, Q looked down at the cat in his lap.

“Does it hurt?” He asked, scratching Bond under the chin. “The transformation, I mean.” 

Bond rubbed his head against Q’s hand and rolled onto his side, miraculously remaining on Q’s lap. He purred softly, but kept his eyes open, eyeing Q. The fur on his back rippled a little, mimicking an irritation. Q pursed his lips and lifted Bond into his arms. He expected the agent to fight against him and jump to the ground, but he was surprised when Bond instead settled into his grasp. 

“Your disposition is a complete mystery to me.” Q mumbled. He set Bond down on the counter and began to sort through the fridge looking for something to feed Bond. Luckily he was scheduled to change back within the next twenty-four hours, as he was running out of cat-appropriate but still human food. 

They are in silence until Q finally spoke up. 

“I just want you to know, Bond… I’m really sorry about what happened at Skyfall. And I regret what happened with M more than I could possibly say.” Bond stopped eating and gave Q a measured look. Q swallowed his qualms and continued. “I know that I haven’t said much on the subject this week, because I’ve been trying really hard to compartmentalize everything, but I just wanted to say that. Before you turned back tomorrow and had to deal with everything all over again. I really am sorry.”

Bond blinked his blue eyes at him a moment, looked down, glanced back at Q, and then continued to eat. Q breathed a sigh of relief, and continued to pick at his plate. 

That evening Q was surprised when Bond curled up in bed next to him. He stroked his hand down Bond’s back absently as he waited for sleep to claim him. He fell asleep with his hand tucked around Bond’s shoulder, almost protectively. Bond stayed up for a little while longer, as usual, keeping watch for the final moments that he was able to stave off sleep. 

\--- 

A sickly, feline moan woke Q up in the middle of the darkness. He rolled over in bed tiredly, but shot upright when he realized that Bond was standing on the floor, retching. 

“Fuck, Bond- what’s wrong?” Q jumped out of bed and flicked on the light. Bond jumped at the sudden brightness, and shied away from Q’s hand when it reached towards him. Bond made a few more strangled noises, and then fled quickly from the room. Q shot up and was about to follow when he heard the unmistakable of a body hitting the floor. A human body. 

“Bond?” Q walked quickly out of the bedroom and tried to locate Bond in his dark house. 

“Here.” Bond rasped. He was lying on the bathroom floor, curled on his elbows and knees, stark naked. His voice was low and broken.

“Shit, hold on.” Q said, shying away at the (incredibly tempting) view of Bond’s body. He turned towards a hall closet and pulled out a suitcase, which had a number of clothes in Bond’s size inside. He turned his head and passed the suitcase into the bathroom. 

“Thanks, Q.” Bond rasped. He took the briefcase and closed the door. A moment later, Q heard the shower begin to run. 

A half hour later, Q was laying in bed reading a book when Bond re-emerged from the bathroom, sopping wet and bare-chested. He had pulled on a pair of pyjama bottoms, and was barefoot. He stood in Q’s doorway for a second, appraising the situation. 

“How do you feel?” Q asked. He tried not to sound shaken, or surprised, or uncomfortable. He failed on all counts. 

“I suppose I feel fine, considering.” Bond said. He took a few steps forward and sat on the edge of the bed. “It’s a bit of a roller coaster, to be honest.” 

“I can’t really imagine.” Q confessed. “But I suppose it makes sense. Are you hungry? I can make you a proper meal.” 

“No, thank you. I won’t be eating for a bit.” Bond said with a small smile. “I could just use some sleep.”

“I can make up the couch for you, if you’d like.” Q offered before remembering his manners. “Or actually, you take the bed. I can kip on the sofa- I’m sure your body would appreciate a proper rest.” 

“You don’t have to go anywhere Q.” Bond said quietly. He glanced over his shoulder at Q, and it was amazing how similarly his eyes blazed compared to his feline form. “Actually, I’d prefer it if you didn’t.”

“What are you saying?” Q asked, feeling his breath catch. 

“I’m trying to subtly hint that I’d like to sleep in here. With you.” Bond said pointedly. 

“O-oh. Of course.” Q said, shifting to put his book aside. “Please.”

Bond turned and moved up towards the head of the bed. He placed his hand on Q’s shoulder and gave him a small smile. 

“Thank you for everything, Q.” Bond said. He leaned forward and placed a soft kiss on Q’s cheek before settling down underneath the sheets. 

Q flicked the light off and sunk his body down next to Bond. As soon as he finished shifting, Bond moved towards him and entwined his arms around Q’s waist. 

It was sudden, but Q didn’t have a care in the world. 

“Thank you for keeping guard this week, Bond.” Q whispered into the darkness. “Don’t think I didn’t notice you prowling in the darkness.”

“I have to protect what’s important.” Bond said sleepily. “Besides, you were protecting me this week, too.” 

Soon after, they both drifted off to sleep.


End file.
